


Breathing Heavy

by plumfulkiss



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Asthma, Asthmatic Will Halstead, Chicago Med Secret Santa 2019, Gift Fic, M/M, Sleepovers, sort of soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumfulkiss/pseuds/plumfulkiss
Summary: Will stays at Connor's for the night.
Relationships: Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes (Chicago Med)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 120





	Breathing Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> secret santa gift for @harvestleaves on tumblr !

This wasn’t the first time Will had been over to Connor’s house. This wasn’t the first time Will had been to Connor’s house to stay the night, either, but the fact that was happening was almost intimidating for redhead Will Halstead. In the morning, they had an event, and in order to keep everyone accountable, people stayed together in pairs. 

Will thought it was juvenile; like a high school band trip, staying together as if they couldn’t be trusted to arrive on time to another PR event set up to make the hospital look better. As he packed his bag, an old duffle of his dad’s, he kept complaining to himself. Staying up late and getting up early. Sure, he already did that, but this time he  _ had  _ to or else risk his job.

It had perks though.

For instance, he was staying with the lovable (if not annoying) Connor Rhodes, someone he looked forward to, found comfort in hanging around with whether he would admit it or not. There were worse people he could be staying with, and there were certainly worse ridiculously nice apartments he could be staying at as well.

And so, tossing his now full bag over his shoulder and digging out his keys from the dish by the front door, there were worse things he could have been doing on a Thursday night.

Within five minutes he had gotten into his car (which he had started earlier to get the heat running, cutting the Chicago chill in half before it could tempt him; his jacket wasn’t what it used to be) and out into the streets. It wasn’t far from Connor’s as far as distance, but the trip felt heavy, weighted. 

Maybe it was just because he was tired. Who’s to say?

The late night sky, illuminated by the lights of the city, reminded him about the hour. It was just barely after eleven already; He’d gotten the late shift, on top of everything else. Summoning a yawn, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before connecting it once again to the wheel. 

He felt like he’d forgotten something, the kind of feeling that’s felt in the small of your back, telling you to turn back around and think through your last few steps. He tried to push it off, knowing if he wanted to even pretend to sleep, he’d have to move on without it.

The way he saw it, surely nothing was so important that it would get forgotten.

He pulled into the parking lot of Connor’s apartment ten minutes later. It would have been eight, but there was a surprising amount of late-night traffic, even for Chicago. No matter. He stepped out, opening his trunk to gather his things when, like a baseball to the back, it hit him.

His inhaler.

It was a trivial thing, really. He  _ had  _ asthma, certainly, but was in no need of it right now. It had fallen under his radar, only showing up once in a blue moon after a particularly stressful week where he’d pushed too far. He didn’t even bother carrying it with him to work most days, which while he realized that wasn’t the best example he could be setting as a doctor, he didn’t need it. Simple as that.

However, Natalie herself had even reminded him to bring it, so the thought of bringing it was still fresh on his mind. She was the only one who knew he had it, really, a fact he’d shared years ago with her when they were closer. It was merely a friendly reminder now.

He had already buzzed in when he parked, so the next step was making the walk up to Connor’s apartment.    
Two flights of stairs and one long hall later, he had arrived. Bag still tossed haphazardly over his shoulder, he rapped gently against the door. He’d texted already, but it was just to be safe. He would’ve been louder, but he’d learned last time he was here that Connor’s neighbor, an old woman who had a penchant for making him plates and plates of cookies, was in bed by 7:00. He didn’t want to wake her; this was a rare moment of him being quietly polite.

After a beat, Connor opened the door. 

A slight pinkening of Will’s cheeks was the first of many distractions that night. It always happened in intimate moments like this; he couldn’t help it much, not at all. He switched from having the bag slung over the shoulder to holding it to his chest, like a hug. “Hey.”

Connor’s hair was dark, and the sleepless gaze in his eyes was cold, but not unfeeling. He smiled, and it was warm, and gentle dimples, smile lines, revealed themselves. He was already dressed for bed, loose gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked a little too big for comfort, but perfectly Connor. He opened the door wider, enough to let Will in, and then he shut it behind them both. He locked it, unlocked it, then locked it again.

Just another one of those things that made Connor himself, Will noticed. It started after the entire Ava ordeal, if he had to take a guess.

It was months ago. 

Connor turned his back to the door. “My neighbor made cookies when she heard I was going to have visitors.”

Will smiled, a smile that oozed the slightest tinge of something darker underneath the base level of happiness. “Very kind of her.”

He stepped forward, into the living area, placing his bag down on the couch, careful not to mess it up. That was a task for later, when Connor would turn it into a mattress just for Will. It was a ritual Will had become at least a tad familiar to. But for now, there was a plate of cookies, somehow still warm, that needed attending to. 

  
  


Despite plans to fall asleep rather quickly, to get as much sleep as he could get before he was getting shipped off to the presses, Connor and Will stayed up. They wined and dined; it had been much too long since they had time to be friendly with each other, and, as doctors, they were much accustomed to sleepless nights.

Will was on his second glass, cross-legged on the couch, when Connor leaned back, head falling into his lap. This was unprecedented, Will felt, and though his shoulders tensed, he did nothing to change their position. His toes curled.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like this; in many ways, he craved this, though he would never tell. In some ways, he didn’t think it was right to tell, not at all. 

“Tired, Halstead?” Connor asked, raising his brows and looking up at him. “I can head to bed.”

Hesitantly, knowing it very well might be the best thing to do, Will nodded, playing with his hands, glancing downwards but away from the brunette’s electric gaze.

Connor rose, taking his march around his apartment to close every curtain and cover on his large windows. This was another thing; Will did not ask, but simply watch. A part of him wished to be a helping hand, one Connor trusted to help: one Connor could perhaps  _ love. _

He did not move. He said not a word. This was not something he thought he could share.

Connor’s ritual, final for the night, ended unceremoniously as Connor shut the last cover and turned, once again, towards Will. 

Connor cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Halstead.”

Will simply waved, a breeze on the small of his back forcing him to straighten uncomfortably as he watched Connor begin to walk, wander, down a hall and into his bedroom.

Before he turned the corner, Will blurted out, “Connor?”

“Yes?”

Connor turned back, his eyes wide with an anticipation one couldn’t describe. His feet carried him back over; his shirt collar hung slightly on his shoulder, off to the side. He landed at the back end of the couch, hovering over where Will sat. There was something personal about his gaze, and his mouth hung open, parted. Things clicked.

A beat.

And then Connor’s hands were digging in Will’s hair, pulling him closer, allowing the electric connection. A kiss. Will didn’t know Connor wanted one of these, not from him, not from anyone. It made Will’s stomach twist in knots. It made Connor become a craving.

And they connected and spoke to each other though the moving of their lips until the inklings of bad thoughts, rude thoughts, thoughts of ‘we should not’ forced Will to pull away.

The intensity of emotions piling in his stomach found a nauseating home in his stomach. His throat felt narrower than it should have been, and, without opening his mouth, nervously, through his nose, he was begging for air. This had never happened before. An asthma attack, which was definitely what this was, had never come from anything other than stress, but this wasn’t stress. It was a different feeling. Anxious.

His chest tightened, ever so slightly, barely noticeable, a pang of emotion or something physical under the surface. His eyes darted back and forth, nervous, and he shouldn’t have done something, but he  _ definitely  _ did something.

“I’m  _ sorry,”  _ he muttered, breathlessly, the slightest hint of a wheeze falling out of him as he forced his lungs, his breath, in and out and in and out. There wasn’t enough air. 

His brain was going haywire. He didn’t know why he was  _ apologizing  _ when Connor started the whole thing, and he didn’t know why Connor hadn’t moved from his position, hands up impulsively, eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost.

Will stood, though he felt a little weak, and reached for his bag. He coughed, one of those heavy ones that knocks even  _ more  _ wind out of you as he searched and searched for something that wasn’t there. He’d forgotten the inhaler, even realized it, too, and was stuck here.

Connor finally sprung into action, snapping out of whatever fit he himself had gotten into, grabbing Will by the shoulders and setting him back down. His mouth struggled to find words. “As- Asthma?” He asked, and Will nodded weakly, trying to steady breathing without any air to take in. 

“No, in, haler,” He wheezed, and Connor went to grab his phone, call for somebody to come get them and get him taken care of before it got any worse. “Don’t!” Will managed, and for a moment things looked better when he admitted, “Nat will, will kill me.”

He managed a smile, and then was overtaken once again by a coughing fit, a strong one that shook his shoulders. Connor held him steady.  _ Alright.  _ If Will wouldn’t let him call an ambulance, at least not now, then they’d have to work this out together and apologize later. 

He moved from behind Will to in front of him, eyes focused and narrowed in thought. He’d learned breathing exercises after Ava, among other things he’d learned.

“I can-” A wheeze, “-I can handle, this,” Will muttered heavily.

Connor shook his head. “No you can’t,” he snapped, not meaning to be rude but intending a certain force to show they would figure this out. Remorseful. “Breathe with me.”

And they breathed.

It was simple counting exercises, ones Connor learned to cope with any anxieties he had developed, but they did all they could. As Will’s emotions calmed down, more air returned. He hesitated to think of it as being like clockwork, because that meant Connor was the reason things got better, which made him think about what happened, which sent his breathing back a step.

His shoulders, tensed, finally relaxed, and gently he looked away from Connor and his breathing, able to continue independently. It was silent, but a calm silent, the one that made things relax and breathe, moving with time, with the wind.

Connor, for lack of a better word, was impressed. He didn’t truthfully think he could do it, and strange thoughts, flashes, of a body of someone he cared for didn’t help. He didn’t want to experience any deja-vu. Thankfully, things ended the opposite.

“You alright?” Connor asked, dipping his gaze at Will once again, not wanting to ask but knowing he had to tease, just a little. “If that’s how it’ll be next time, I won’t kiss you again.”

_ Next time,  _ Will noted with a certain importance. This wasn’t a one-off occurrance. His cheeks dusted, more red than pink, and he covered his face. Embarrassed.  _ “No,  _ I’ll try not to do that next time.”

Connor smiled, grabbing Will’s hand, removing it from his face and holding it in his own. For a moment they sat, until Connor raised their interlocked hands and delivered a kiss. 

Will was still breathing, so that was a good sign.

“We’ll be stopping by your house in the morning for you to get that inhaler, Sunshine,” Connor noted just before pulling away, disconnecting.

Will frowned. “Really? I don’t need i-”

“Until you do need it, that is,” Connor corrected, hands behind his back, cocking a brow, smirking up a storm. A teaser indeed.

Will picked up a pillow from the couch and tossed it at him, eyes narrow, feigning anger. “Go to bed, Connor.”

Connor caught it, tossing it back onto the couch, and holding his hands up innocently. “I’m just saying, Halstead. Gotta be careful, don’tcha?”

Will rolled his eyes, arms crossed, legs kicked back. He struggled to believe this was all happening, but rolled with the punches, glowing. Happy.

Connor waved, taking a glance around the blinds once more before proudly projecting, “Goodnight, Will,”

A pause, one that confused Will, not long enough befo-

“Unless you want to join me?”

Will laughed, embarrassed once more, covering his face. “Shut up and go to bed already! It’s late.”

“Yeah, yeah, right.”

As Connor disappeared down the hall, Will noticed hesitantly that Connor didn’t feel the need to pull out the mattress himself.

Connor trusted him.

He was home.


End file.
